


a little knife

by Wildehack (tyleet)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyleet/pseuds/Wildehack
Summary: For Daisy it is always.





	a little knife

**Author's Note:**

> K wanted some Daisy/Basira, even though I specifically asked for a prompt that would let me be mean to Jon. I think I managed to be mean to all three of them here, so yay for me!

For three months, Daisy is alone and terrified and unable to breathe for the dirt packed in her nostrils, crammed down her throat, tickling under her eyelids.   
  
Of course Daisy doesn’t know it’s three months. For Daisy it is always. Once she walked in the world, and now she is part of the buried eternal, and she will never see the sun or the sky or Basira again. She wishes to God she could die, but she knows she never will.   
  
Daisy does not fantasize at first-–can’t manage it, at the beginning, for the terror–but the Hunt has abandoned her in the dirt, left her fully human and at the mercy of the buried. A human mind wants occupation,  _needs_  it, will invent errands for itself if there is no other option.   
  
So Daisy imagines Basira’s hand closing over hers, tugging her hard up to the surface, imagines Basira gently brushing the earth from her face, blowing the dust from her eyes, smoothing her hands through Daisy’s hair. She imagines it all the time, how soft Basira’s lips would be at the corner of Daisy’s mouth, how her voice might sweetly shake saying things like “I’ve got you,” like “It’s all right,” like “I love you,” like the aching sound of Daisy’s own name. The hurt is worse, after that, because Daisy  _knows_ , the way she used to know gravity, that it is impossible. She can’t help but imagine it all the time, like cutting into herself with a knife.  
  
*

And then, in the middle of eternity, she hears Jon’s voice.  
  
Stupid, reckless Jon, who she never gave a thought to after the Buried took her, Jon who she was planning to murder, if the Circus didn’t get him first. 

Jon grabs her by the hand and tells her what she already knows: that they’ll never get out, that there _is_ no out–-and then, abruptly, Jon cries out and digs his hand into her wrist and _pulls Daisy out_.   
  
The only thing she knows when she’s out of the coffin is the painful wrack of breath in her lungs. She clutches Jon’s hand, convulsive-–what if they’re still not out?-–and gasps and gasps for air.   
  
“Oh god,” someone is saying, has been saying for a while, and eventually Daisy realizes it is Basira. Looks up, desperate, to find Basira crying too hard to look at her, her hands digging into Daisy’s shoulders.   
  
“’S all right,” Daisy croaks eventually, because someone should. She still can’t bring herself to let go of Jon’s hand.  
  
“It’s not,” Basira says through her tears, which is not as nonsensical as it seems at the time.   
  
*  
  
Daisy can’t sleep unless she’s touching Basira.   
  
Actually, Daisy can’t sleep, but if she isn’t touching Basira, lying alone in the dark, she starts to hyperventilate.   
  
Basira is accommodating. She smooths her hands over Daisy’s hair, presses soft lips to the corner of Daisy’s eye, and lets Daisy cling to her. But Daisy doesn’t sleep, and neither does Basira, both of them staring blankly into the dark.   
  
It is humiliating, and patronizing, and Daisy would hate it if she didn’t need it.   
  
*   
  
“I love you,” Daisy says once, just to hear how it sounds out loud and not deep in the earth, and Basira flinches hard, like Daisy’s struck her.   
  
*   
  
“Statement of Olive Douglas, regarding–Daisy. Uh, hello.”   
  
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”   
  
“No, that’s-–quite all right. You’re welcome to wait in here while-–is Basira out?” 

“No.”   
  
“Oh. Well, you’re still welcome. Uh, chair?”   
  
“No thanks.”   
  
“Right.” He clears his throat. “Uh, so-–"   
  
“There is something, actually,” Daisy manages to get out. This time Jon waits for her, eyebrows raised. Her throat hurts too much for her to say the rest of it, though, so-– “If you could,” she says, and gestures vaguely.   
  
“Oh,” Jon realizes, and straightens his spine. “Um, do you need something?”   
  
“Yeah,” Daisy says, exhausted.  
  
“What is it?” the archivist asks her softly.   
  
“I need to hold your hand,” she answers, bitter but compelled. It’s the only thing that feels like proof she won’t still be left behind, where she knows she should have been forever.   
  
Immediately Jon holds out his right hand, his face carefully blank.   
  
She sits in the chair after all, right by the desk, and grabs his wrist. His fingers tighten around her palm, but he doesn’t look at her.   
  
“Statement resumes,” he says, and goes back to reading someone else’s story.   
  
She falls asleep like that, head pillowed awkwardly in her other arm against Jon’s desk, and she wishes she didn’t dream but she does. She dreams about the sky, the sun, Basira smoothing back her hair and saying “I’ve got you,” sweet and close. She dreams about the earth.   
  
*  
  
She can hear Jon talking, but Jon is always talking. 

 _I know you miss her,_  Jon is saying, and someone else says  _Stop that_  sharply, and Jon says-– _but she’s right here_ , and squeezes her hand.   
  
“It’s no good having the Lonely about the place,” Jon murmurs to himself, but that might be a dream, she’s not sure.  
  
*   
  
When she wakes up Jon is gone, although one of his jumpers is draped over her shoulders.   
  
She doesn’t panic, though, because Basira is there, saying her name.   
  
“I’m here,” Daisy mumbles, still sleep-incoherent.   
  
“I know you are,” Basira says, and for a second she looks somber. Then the expression vanishes, smoothed away. “There’s takeaway in the break room.”   
  
“Yeah,” Daisy says, like nothing is wrong, and lets Jon’s jumper slide off her shoulders. “Alright.”   
  
Basira nods, waits for her, and when Daisy stumbles a little getting up–-it’s been fourteen hours or so since the last time she ate anything-–she automatically steadies her.   
  
Daisy does love her. It’s a pity she never said so before she was buried.  
  
“Got you,” Basira says, warm hand on Daisy’s elbow.   
  
Hope still feels reckless, a little knife in the dark.  

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog on tumblr, if you'd rather: https://wildehacked.tumblr.com/post/185376854005/k-verbally-requested-either-tim-being-mean-to-jon :)


End file.
